


Lele.

by hypegirl



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bad Matchmaking, Banter, Character Development, ChenJi, Everyone Is Gay, Friends to Lovers, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kunten, M/M, Matchmaking, Misunderstandings, Park Jisung (NCT) is Whipped, Victorian, Weird Fluff, Zhong Chen Le is a Little Shit, emma!au, happy birthday bestie!!!!, markhyuck, nomin, refined crack, rentaro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypegirl/pseuds/hypegirl
Summary: Zhong Chenle—handsome, quick-witted, and amiable, with a comfortable home and a generally pleasant manner, seemed to have been granted some of the best blessings of existence and had lived nearly twenty years in the world with very little to distress or vex him.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Huang Ren Jun/Osaki Shotaro, Jung Sungchan & Osaki Shotaro, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 27
Kudos: 62





	Lele.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [im_soft_ok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_soft_ok/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE!!!! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS FIC BECAUSE I WORKED MY ASS OFF AND I’M KINDA HAPPY WITH THE WAY IT TURNED OUT ALSO YOUD BETTER HAVE THE BEST YEAR EVER OR E L S E
> 
> okay hello!! we have an nct fic!! i want this intro to be short so i’m just skipping straight to the disclaimers:
> 
> 1\. i fucked up the plot so bad that it’s barely reflective of emma as a story. jane austen is flipping in her fucking grave.   
> 2\. ages are the same as they are in real life (it’s very early 2021 rn) for everyone else except for probably ten and kun, who are significantly older than the other characters. (yes, taeyong is older than kun irl but much younger here. i’m sorry.)   
> 3\. we’re just going to pretend that last names don’t ever change when you get married for convenience’s sake.   
> 4\. HOMO-NORMATIVITY.   
> 5\. sorry there are literally so few female characters in this entire fic and i think some of em r dead. haha  
> 6\. i tried to stay as true to victorian-style phrasing in the dialogue (not necessarily the writing), but i’m no expert. i just have a masterpiece theater addition and occasionally talk like i’m from ye olde days.   
> 7\. i was purposely vague when writing outfit descriptions because i imagined some of them wearing dresses and i wanted to leave that open to yall. the only thing i keep talking about are jisungs fucking tailcoats i’m sorry about that  
> 8\. there are probably plot holes. there are definitely plot holes.  
> 9\. the setting is unspecified pls take note (willing suspension of disbelief) <3
> 
> okay that’s that! next off, here’s a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dTfxntGgTALg8Ydk3RKV1?si=5B39Xlo7Q6agavt3wsWA1A) i have. a soundtrack if one were ever to make this fic into some inane netflix original (strange how i finished writing this fic just a day or two before bridgerton was released).
> 
> finally, i just want to say that i wrote this in a relatively short amount of time and that it’s not perfect. if you’re a jane austen fan/history buff/anything of the sort, please don’t come for me. i tried my best. 
> 
> alright, that’s all i have! please enjoy!! 

It’s a chilly morning. The sun casts its rays across the frost-coated glass of a small window. Expansive fields illuminated by the sparse morning sunlight lie beyond it. There’s not a person in sight, not a single blade of grass swayed by any slight breeze. 

One could be happy, in this still little town. 

On the other side of a window stands a young man, soft in both nature and appearance. He looks slowly around his room—furnished in light blues and opalescent whites, gentle and elegant to match the man who resides in it. 

He is seeing it for the last time. 

“Must you leave me like this?” 

Kim Jungwoo moves quickly away from the window, peeking shyly through the narrow crack that his barely opened door has provided. His heart races far quicker than it should, this early in the day. 

He breathes a relieved sigh at the sight before him. “Thank heavens it’s only you, Chenle.” 

A tall, bright-eyed boy smiles warmly at him from the sparsely illuminated hallway, his hands folded behind his back to quite obviously conceal something. “You haven’t answered my question.” He looks at Jungwoo expectantly, a too-familiar expression.

Jungwoo has spent years in this beautiful room, in this charming house, by this boy’s side. 

At the end of the day, every interaction they have still leads Jungwoo to question how he hasn’t quite lost his mind.

Zhong Chenle is extravagant, not only by nature but by upbringing. Jungwoo supposes he might have something to do with that. 

Not once has Chenle been denied something he’s desired, and not once has he yielded on something he’s desired for someone else. 

He has grown to be a boy of nineteen years, convinced that the entire world will easily fit within the palm of his small hand. 

Today, he seems to want Jungwoo to stay. Today, Jungwoo has to deny him. 

“I am sorry, my dear boy, but the circumstance of my marriage makes my residence here most difficult, will it not?” He smiles, unsure. 

A sigh. “It will indeed.” 

Chenle is extravagant, yes, but he is a good-natured child. He looks back up, eyes wide as ever. “It seems most unfortunate that we have to part so soon. You’ve all but raised me, Mr. Kim. You were like... a mother to me, being that I was not fortunate to meet my own my before her passing.” 

Something within Jungwoo goes weak. The time that they have spent together was by no means a short period, but another thing to be expected of Chenle is his dramatics.

(He has pulled the mother card so many times that Jungwoo barely bats an eye.)

The boy extends a hand, clutching within it a large bouquet of fresh flowers tied together with a narrow ribbon. 

Jungwoo breaks into a gentle smile. “Oh, my sweet Chenle.” He accepts them hesitantly, as he does everything else. 

Chenle grins, his brown hair shifting against his forehead as he rocks back onto his heels. “I do wish a happy marriage between you and Mr. Wong, but I will miss you terribly.” 

“And I you, my darling, but I’ll be only a few minutes away.” 

Jungwoo receives a nod. 

“With that said, you must be getting ready. I’ll leave you to it.” Chenle winks cheekily, and just as quickly as he appeared, he is departing. 

Jungwoo hears his footfalls as he skips down the hall. He stares down into the bouquet for a moment before shutting the door. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Chenle’s day began at the crack of dawn, when he’d ventured out into the gardens to gather some flowers, his white garments colored blue in the early morning light. 

The sun has just barely risen, now, and he sits in the back of a carriage beside his father. 

Today is quite an important day. Today, Chenle sees the fruits of his labor. 

His father glances in his direction and exhales heavily. “As much as I love to see you happy, I fear I will dread hearing the reasoning behind that smile.” 

“Well, father, your words simply make me feel more inclined to tell you.” 

Kun sighs once again, but it is cut short as the carriage goes over a bump. 

Chenle takes this as his invitation to begin. “Today is a mark of my success. It is my most recent victory of many in the past, though this particular—“ 

“My son, I wish on occasion that you would refrain from treating that foolish hobby of yours as a… battle, or something of the sort.” 

“And why not, when both require presence of mind and coordination?” 

Running a hand through his blonde hair, Kun gives Chenle a most bewildered look. 

Chenle smiles, satisfied. “As I was saying, this _foolish hobby_ of mine seems not to have been in vain, as today we attend the marriage of a couple whose very first meetings I orchestrated,” He pauses to look at Kun, who only adjusts his spectacles in response. “Are you quite disappointed in me, father?” 

“No, no,” Kun replies. “I simply wonder why you suddenly decided it was the right moment for you to take it upon yourself to get Jungwoo married.” 

Chenle huffs. “I didn’t think they were going to get married. I’d assumed they’d perhaps court for a while and then forget about one another.” He pauses. The carriage goes over another bump, and both of them hit their heads on the roof. “Ow. If I’d known Mr. Kim was going to marry this man, I would never have thought of introducing them.” 

“And what reasons have you for that?” 

“Reasons that have to do with my own personal attachment to Jungwoo. Now that he’s off to be wedded, I suppose I should seek out another companion.” 

Kun looks as though Chenle’s words have significantly decreased his lifespan. “Let’s focus on one thing at a time, shall we?” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

The chapel is done up quite nicely, though Chenle supposes that was to be expected. He adores weddings, but today’s occasion is bittersweet. 

He’s staring forward when the vicar, already standing in place, shoots him a tired look. Chenle stifles a laugh, and the boy’s face quickly shifts into a grin. 

He and Jung Sungchan have met on occasion, at the odd gathering or party. Sungchan is relatively new in town, but he seems a nice man. Chenle might do well in making him more than an occasional acquaintance. 

Someone slides into the pew on Chenle’s side. “Hope this seat isn’t taken,” He says, more of a statement than a question. 

Chenle and Kun turn in sync towards the voice. 

Chenle instantly recognizes the catlike features and wry smile. “Ten!” He blurts, equal parts shocked and overjoyed. “Where on earth have you been?” 

“Voice down, Chenle,” Kun chides, but Chenle swears his eyes aren’t betraying him when he sees his father give Ten a warm smile. 

A lightbulb flicks on in his mind.

Ten grins sheepishly. “Oh, I’ve simply been busy. You know how it is. But I simply couldn’t miss the wedding of two such close friends of mine.” 

Kun, on Chenle’s other side, tilts his head. “You know them both?” 

Ten nods. “I attended school with Yukhei, and met Jungwoo after moving here. Quite a coincidence, is it not?” 

“Wh—“ 

“Though I must say,” Ten continues promptly, straight-faced, “I hate weddings. No one person could ever bore me as much as the union of any given two.” 

Chenle snorts, hand flying immediately to cover his mouth. 

Kun’s eyes are wider than Chenle has ever seen them. “That’s quite an interesting take on marriage, sir. I take it you have no plans to get married yourself?” 

Chenle lets out another choking noise, his other hand coming up to join his first. 

“No, never. I’ve done my fair share of courting in my youth, but... marriage is something I’d never consider, especially after seeing what it did to my dear sister.” 

“Why, what condition is your sister in?” Chenle asks from behind both his hands. 

Ten looks at him, eyes steely and suddenly deathly serious. “She’s doing wonderfully. It’s her insolent son that’s the problem.” 

One thing that Chenle has noticed over the years: you can scarcely hold a conversation with Ten, without being made privy to at least one tidbit of news on his brat of a nephew. It’s Donghyuck this and Donghyuck that to the point at which Chenle supposes he should be more than slightly tired of hearing the poor boy’s cursed name. 

It is also a well-acknowledged truth that Ten loves his nephew very much, and is in a great deal of denial. Ten seems to have resigned himself from ever loving a worldly creature. 

“I’m sure he cannot be all that bad,” Kun reasons. 

Ten shifts his cold gaze up to Chenle’s father. “He’s been misbehaving since the age of negative-one.” 

“That does not make him any less worthy of your care,” Kun replies, casting a subtle glance in Chenle’s direction. “Trust me, I know.” 

Chenle cannot have seen that correctly. 

The organ begins playing so suddenly that the entire chapel jumps in surprise. 

Ten nods off not five minutes through the service. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Chenle had hoped for a peaceful night after such a long and tiring day, but upon returning home at 5 o’clock, he finds himself speeding through his house as though in a sprinting race. Just another ordinary day’s events, he supposes.

“Lele, if you could just stop running from me—“

Chenle leaps smoothly over a table and continues into the drawing room. 

“Why on earth would I do that?” He shoots back quickly, voice cracking in a most infuriating way.

A hand wraps around Chenle’s wrist and both parties are drawn to a halt. 

“You will release me this instant, Park Jisung!” 

“And why on earth would I do that?” Jisung smiles smugly down at Chenle, little more than the slightest upward turn of the corners of his lips.

Chenle gives him a disgusted look. “Unhand me, good sir.” 

“Very well. But you must promise not to run away again.” Jisung’s expression is quickly wiped away, replaced by the weak glare that Chenle has come to know so well. “I trust you know what I’m about to say.” 

“Of course. I have it all but memorized.” Chenle hops over an armchair to put some distance between him and Jisung. “My dear Lele,” He starts, dropping his voice to a near-painful pitch in order to properly mimic the boy before him, “Your love of matchmaking is not exactly something you choose to keep secret, and I believe it is well within my authority as your one closest friend to question you.” 

Jisung remains silent for a moment before giving a loud sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose between two unnervingly long fingers. “Well, now that we have gotten that out of the way, I believe we can go straight to the questioning.” 

Chenle groans, collapsing into the armchair. 

Jisung remains undeterred, circling around the chair to properly face the other boy. “How certain are you that this Mr. Wong character is a good man?” 

“My. Has anyone told you how truly exhausting you are, Park J—“ 

“I’m the exhausting one? Chenle, you… you treat these human beings like little... marionettes that you can play with and make, I don’t know, kiss one another. You find the most,” Jisung pauses here to gesticulate in an extremely exaggerated manner, “outlandish characters to set people up with, and everyone is forced to place their trust in you, a mere child nineteen years of age.”

“And you, Mr. Park, are but eighteen. I would advise you not to forget your place.” 

Jisung laughs mirthlessly, shocked. “I can’t believe you. If you truly believe that my age is going to stop me from giving a damn—“ 

Chenle raises an eyebrow. “I’d watch your language if I were you, Park. Someone might hear you.” 

“Like who? The servants are sent home for the day, Mr. Kim’s wedded and off, and I don’t believe your father gives a single flying fu—“ 

That does it. Chenle jumps up out of his chair for the sole purpose of clapping his hand over Jisung’s mouth. “Park Jisung!” He hisses. “I understand that I agitate you, for some reason, but you must learn to keep your temper in check.” 

“Then you must, in turn, learn to keep your brain in check,” Jisung shoots back as soon as Chenle retracts his hand. 

Chenle scoffs. “I’ll denounce you as my best friend, one of these days. I’ll go seek solace in... in Na Jaemin.” 

“Do it. Do it, I dare you. You’ll find he’s a terrible bore.” Jisung sets his jaw. “And, I must add, neither of us have strayed from the other for eighteen years. I doubt any attempts to do so at this point would prove even mildly successful.” 

“I—“

“Regardless, you must explain yourself. Who is this Wong Yukhei you were so intent on forcing Mr. Kim towards?” 

“I did no such thing!” Chenle replies, aghast. “I gave a mere push. And things turned out quite well, wouldn’t you think?” 

“Answer the question, Zhong.” 

Chenle sighs. “Yukhei is a mutual friend. I thought he might... do well with someone like Jungwoo, given their respective natures.” 

“Their... natures?” 

“Yes! You know how Jungwoo is, all quiet and reserved and soft.” 

“And you mean to tell me Mr. Wong is loud and outgoing and... hard?” Jisung winces. 

“ _Hard?_ ” 

“Don’t be that way.” 

“Oh, for… Look, Jisung. Yukhei is a joyful man. He’ll treat our Jungwoo well, I know he will.” 

Jisung falls silent, looking tiredly at Chenle. 

“I’m sure you would have been able to judge his character far more accurately if you’d attended the wedding,” Chenle appends sourly. 

“I was busy!” 

“With what? You’re... a wealthy orphan who finished school at the age of sixteen!” 

“I have things to do too!” 

“Such as?” 

Jisung gives up, leaning against the back of the chair so Chenle has to turn to look at him. “You’re the world’s most irritating lad, Chenle.” 

“Why, thank you.” 

But Jisung’s already giving him a glare far colder than those he’s seen before. He straightens up, walking quickly towards the door. 

“You’ll seek me out when you learn to mind your own business,” He says quietly, and then walks out, coattails flying behind him most dramatically. 

Chenle watches his back as he leaves, turning to glare through the window as he makes his way through the grass. 

“Fuck you, Park Jisung.” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Breakfast the next morning is quite a dreary affair. 

Chenle looks glumly at the empty place where Jungwoo would usually be seated, and then at both of the servant boys standing alone near the back of the room. He considers asking if they would like to sit down to eat, but realizes his father would most probably think him insane. 

Kun probably already thinks him insane, Chenle reasons. He glances over to his father, whose face is hidden behind today’s news-paper. 

“I’ve heard Ten has a new boarder at the boys’ school,” Chenle remarks offhandedly. He says whatever comes to mind whenever things are too quiet, which is something that occurs quite frequently. 

He has started to believe that the filter between his brain and mouth is quite broken. Perhaps shattered like a dropped vase or flaked away like a phyllo pastry.

Kun lowers his book slightly. “Heard?” 

Chenle sighs. “Na Jaemin might have told me.” 

He hesitates because, in Kun’s eyes, Na Jaemin is everything a boy should not be. Loud, and simultaneously reserved. Standoffish, but with a passion for gossip. 

The only positive thing that Kun can say for Mr. Na is that he’s married (to the brother of Kun’s own nephew-in-law, no less), which is far more than he can say for his own son. 

Chenle would hope that his father values him for more than just his marital status, though. And he thinks Jaemin quite a nice fellow. 

“I wonder, every now and then, from where it is that that boy sources all his knowledge.” 

“It’s best not to inquire on such matters, father. What’s relevant is the fact that he is almost never wrong,” Chenle replies, defending his friend. “Either way, I’m intrigued by this new boarder. It’s not often we get new people around here.” 

Kun hums, turning his attention back to the page. 

“I’ve heard he’s of foreign descent,” Chenle continues, “How fascinating.”

“If you think about it, my son, we are all of foreign descent.” 

One of the servant boys snickers. Perhaps Chenle’s ears are deceiving him now. 

He ignores this. “Perhaps I should meet with him for tea... or something equally passive. I want to get to know this boy.” 

Kun sets his book down fully, simultaneously raising his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes. “What Chenle wants, Chenle gets.” 

And that is that. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Not five hours later, a small, most naïve looking creature by the name of Osaki Shotaro is seated stiffly in the parlor. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zhong,” He says shakily, lilting accent adding another layer of indecipherability. 

Chenle calmly takes his seat beside Shotaro, smiling kindly at the overwhelmed boy. He takes a sip of his tea before asking, “Do I scare you very much, Mr. Osaki?” 

Shotaro looks alarmed. “Of course not, I simply—I’m not quite used to meeting others in this kind of a setting.” He looks slowly around the parlor, from the imposing, unlit hearth to the spotless white molding around the room. “Or any kind of a setting, for that matter.” 

“Oh, I do understand.” Chenle sets down his cup, leaning forward to grasp one of Shotaro’s hands within his own. 

He’s not sure exactly why he decides to do that, especially given the way Shotaro jolts in response. 

“It must be awfully difficult, adapting to a new place like this. My sincerest apologies if I put you in an uncomfortable situation—“ 

“Oh no, sir. I was, in fact, looking for...” Shotaro’s voice drops, his eyes falling to the ground to avoid having to look at Chenle’s face. “Well, a friend.” 

How unbearably cute this boy is. Chenle’s heart swells with an almost motherly affection. “I’m sure I will be able to provide that for you, if you’ll have me. Pray, what is your age?”

“Oh, I am just twenty.” 

Chenle stills. This was not something he had been prepared for, as Ten’s boarders are usually younger than him. Shotaro’s gentle features and timid voice do nothing to betray his age either. 

Chenle’s behavior has been nothing short of truly inappropriate if Shotaro’s age is what he says. 

“How very splendid! I am just the same,” He lies easily, biting down on his tongue as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

Shotaro brightens, letting out a soft giggle like little bells jingling. “How splendid indeed!” He pauses, and then begins again. “Though, if we are to be friends, Mr. Zhong, I must admit something to you.” 

Chenle’s interest is piqued. “Do tell.” 

“I—you see, I may have heard a thing or two about you from the other boys at the school. There was much... clamor surrounding the arrival of your letter, I thought you must know.” 

“And what kinds of things did you happen to hear?” 

Shotaro gulps. “Is it true that you engage in... matchmaking? The very prospect seems quite strange to me, so I thought I might just—“ 

“Absolutely not,” Chenle interrupts, confidently delivering his second lie of the night. “You mustn’t believe such rumors, dear. I’d think, as a man of twenty, I would know better than to engage in such foolish pastimes.” 

“Oh,” Shotaro nods, “I did by no means intend to imply that you did, but I was wondering.” 

“You needn’t.” Another warm smile. “Such rumors are many, but scarcely ever true.” 

“... I’d be inclined to believe that you’re quite intelligent, Mr. Zhong.” 

“Why, you’ve hardly known me fifteen minutes.” Chenle replies slowly. 

“Oh, I know.” Shotaro grins, eyes smiling as well. “It’s simply your manner of speaking.” 

Chenle’s eyes go deadened to prevent any semblance of joy from escaping him. “Is that so, Mr. Osaki?” 

Shotaro grimaces slightly. “Please do call me Shotaro. Or Taro. But no one’s ever called me Taro.” He adds as an afterthought. 

“Well then, Shotaro. I think we are going to be fast friends.” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Chenle receives a bit of unforeseen news the next day. 

“Do you believe this whole affair to be too far sudden, or is it just me?”

Kun furrows his brow, folding his hands in his lap. “Is it not a most fortunate development?” 

“Of course it is, father,” Chenle says, out of breath from thinking so hard and flitting around the parlor like a hyper-active hummingbird. “But you see, there are many things to be considered here. If Taeyong and his husband come to visit, it’s more than probable that Doyoung’s brother will come as well, and he’ll obviously bring _his_ husband.” 

“My son, the only information—“ 

“I wonder why it is that our family has a glaring lack of sisters, or women in general. We seem predominantly male and predominantly homosexual.” 

“—that I received was your cousin’s letter, wherein he stated that he and his husband will be in town next week. They would like to come home for a night simply to visit and see how we’re faring.” 

Chenle stops in his pacing. “I understand that, father, but do tell me you understand my logic.” 

“I believe any logic you could use is beyond my comprehension, my boy.” Kun says matter-of-factly. 

“Your hilarity knows no bounds, father,” Chenle laughs shortly, giving a few vigorous nods of his head. 

Kun cracks a weak smile. “I don’t know why you’re so worked up, child. It’ll be a single dinner.” 

“A single dinner with half the town in attendance!” 

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” 

Chenle cannot deny that. He flops limply down onto the floor, splaying out on the carpet before the hearth. Kun, accustomed to his antics, looks tiredly down at his son. 

“Alright. What was it you said? Taeyong, Doyoung, Jeno, Jaemin, Jaehyun. Five. That’s five people, my son. You needn’t fret.” 

Chenle looks forlornly into the fireplace. 

“Please get up off the floor, Chenle.” 

Chenle can see one of the servant boys smiling out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head almost imperceptibly. “Do shut up, Liu.” 

The boy’s smile disappears promptly. 

Kun holds his head in his hands. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

“You’re sure about this?” Shotaro asks. His eyes flit quickly down to where Chenle holds a vice-like grip around his arm.

“Of course!” Chenle replies cheerily, tawny hair bouncing as he suddenly skips forward. 

Shotaro stumbles. Chenle attributes it to the scattered rocks in the dirt road. 

“You mustn’t worry so much, Taro. We are simply... expanding your social circle, so to speak.” 

“I have no social circle to expand, Chenle.” 

“In that case, we are creating one.” 

Trees bend over their path, casting shade down onto the dirt. Sun shines through gaps between the leaves, little glowing sections under their feet.

Shotaro smiles nervously, taking faster steps to keep up. “Do you truly think your friend will like me?” He asks after a moment. 

Chenle finally releases Shotaro’s arm and turns to take a better look at him. 

“Jungwoo will adore you,” Chenle decides. With Shotaro’s twinkling eyes and exceedingly soft voice, it’s almost a given. “I’m sure he’ll be inclined to adopt you on the spot, or do something equally drastic.” 

Biting his tongue, Chenle wonders if perhaps his joke was in bad taste considering that Shotaro has no family to speak of. Shotaro doesn’t seem to quite pick up on it. 

“You speak in hyperbole, Chenle.” 

“Hmm. And do you regard that as a fault?” 

Shotaro considers this, giving a minute tilt of his head. “Not in the slightest.” 

Chenle barely keeps a smile off his face. “Come,” he says, once the trees stand straight up and the dirt path fades to reveal an expanse of grass before Jungwoo’s house. “Let’s make some friends, shall we?” 

Shotaro nods. He’s quite an obedient thing, Chenle notices. Like a Retriever pup. 

The moment they get through the door, Chenle skids to a halt. Shotaro walks into his back with a short yelp. 

“Chenle!” Jungwoo calls, gesturing for the both of them to step further into the parlor. “Come in!” 

What Chenle hadn’t expected upon entry was to see Jung Sungchan standing by the hearth, fingers fiddling mindlessly with a strand of his caramel colored hair. He looks over, smiling in the bright but somehow hesitant way so characteristic to him. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Chenle replies quickly, feeling Shotaro peek over his shoulder. “You have company. We’ll come back.” 

Jungwoo furrows his brow and opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off before he can get a word out. 

“No, I just came by to wish Mr. Kim well on his marriage. Please do some in,” Sungchan nods, eyes darting behind Chenle. “Who is this?” 

“Oh—“ Chenle gently grabs Shotaro by the shoulders and pulls him forward. “This is Osaki Shotaro, my friend.” 

Sungchan’s eyes linger on Shotaro for a moment too long, his smile calming slowly in its intensity. 

“Isn’t that nice?” Jungwoo says warmly, “Do come in and sit down, both of you. It’s not often we get new people around here.” 

Chenle smiles and drags Shotaro to the chesterfield near the middle of the room. 

After an eternity of small talk and Jungwoo cooing over Shotaro’s shy laughter, Chenle comes to a realization.

Sungchan has been hovering by the fireplace the whole time, glancing between Chenle and Shotaro with a distant yet joyful look on his face. It seems a familiar expression, in a strange sense. 

A lightbulb flicks on in Chenle’s mind as the conversation falls to a lull, and just as quickly—

“You have nice eyes, Mr. Osaki.”

It’s an innocent observation, and a true one at that, but everyone turns to look at Sungchan, who stands unapologetically with his hands clasped in front of him. 

Shotaro blinks a few times, caught off guard. When he looks up again, his dark eyes glimmer with something more than the light of the room. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jung.” 

Chenle grins, feeling the warmth of his idea spreading throughout his body. 

He’s going to have such fun. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

“Shotaro,” Chenle begins after they take their leave, walking again down the dirt path. “Have you ever been in love?” 

Shotaro looks up, his mouth slightly open as though in shock. “That’s an interesting question. May I inquire as to why you pose this now?” 

“No sir, you may not,” Chenle replies, smiling sweetly. 

A laugh. “In that case, I must admit that I’ve never given it much thought. Why, have you?” 

“Well, that depends. With ideas, perhaps. With people? Most probably not.” 

“Strange. I’ve never considered falling in love with an idea.” 

They walk further until the trees stand upright again and the late-autumn sun shines coolly, unabashedly down onto the ground. 

“You’ll find something that’ll captivate you like nothing else. It’s a very nice feeling, in my experience.” 

Shotaro hums, but cuts himself off with a short gasp, looking to the side.

“What’s happened?” Chenle asks, stopping short.

“Hide me,” Shotaro says quietly, then seems to think the better of it. The pair of them are of equal stature and near-equal height, so that would not likely work out in either of their favor. 

Chenle follows Shotaro’s gaze to the expanse of field through which their path cuts. There’s a figure walking through, directly towards them, a horse in tow. He looks up and gives the pair of them a smile.

“Who’s that?” Chenle hisses through his teeth as the boy approaches. 

“Huang Renjun,” Shotaro whispers back, relaxing as he seemingly accepts his fate. 

Huang Renjun stops a short distance away, squinting and brushing silvery hair away from his face. “Osaki Shotaro?” He asks with a confused smile. 

Chenle looks between the two of them and steps away. “Go talk to him,” he mutters, giving Shotaro a nudge, “I’ll go ahead.” 

And he does, giving Renjun a smile and a courteous tilt of his head before walking ahead. He’s never met the boy before, which is why it strikes him as slightly odd that Shotaro has. There’s also the added factor of Shotaro neglecting to mention him in any conversation they’ve had thus far. 

Chenle thinks little of it and continues on his way. Shotaro joins him a few minutes later, jogging lightly to keep up. 

“Who was that?” Chenle asks again, not bothering to keep his curiosity from his tone of voice. 

Shotaro, now wearing a splitting grin, simply shrugs. “Someone I met by chance.” He casts a glance behind him to make sure the other is out of earshot. “He is quite handsome, is he not?” 

Chenle considers this. He’d only given Renjun half a glance, but his gentle features and light hair did seem to quite fit the bill. 

And then it dawns on him, a moment too late. Chenle looks up at Shotaro and raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Though I’d have presumed the object of your infatuation to appear more... gentlemanly.” 

Chenle bites back a physical wince at his own words. 

“Oh,” Shotaro says. “Perhaps. There’s nothing between us, just for your information.” 

Chenle nods. There’s a familiar, bitter taste on his tongue. He pushes the thought of it out of his mind. 

As Kun had said in jest, what Chenle wants, Chenle gets.

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

Having seven people around the dining room table usually leaves something to be desired. 

Chenle tends to drift off, staring at the empty chair at the table’s far end and wondering who might have filled it. 

Today’s bunch is loud, carrying on more conversations than should be possible for a group of merely seven. 

Far down the table sits Jeno, his eyes mirth-filled crescents as he laughs at something his husband is saying. Jaemin, sitting beside him, grins at the sight and continues on animatedly. 

Chenle watches this, feeling his own heart swell at their adoration for each other. Jaehyun, at Jaemin’s other side, sustains his own suppressed smile at the pair. 

Jaemin’s brother is known for being something of a hopeless romantic, traveling the world and writing his memoirs with little to tie him down. 

Chenle admires him for it. Kun doesn’t. 

Speaking of Kun, he sits at the head of the table engaged in some overly serious discussion with Doyoung. 

Chenle sometimes thinks Doyoung grew old too fast. He’s sure he’d be able to find more than a few gray strands in Doyoung’s perfectly combed black hair. 

Nevertheless, Jeno loves him as a brother, and Taeyong loves him as a husband. Chenle loves Jeno and Taeyong, so everything works out. 

They’re loud enough to be considered cacophonous, but Chenle still can’t help but look over to the empty chair now and then. 

“Chenle,” Taeyong leans over, concern written over his angelic features. “What of that one friend of yours?” He asks quietly.

“Which?” Chenle tilts his head at his cousin, unable to remember if Taeyong has met any of his friends at all. 

Taeyong blinks. “The small one.” 

“I feel the need to remind you we last met when I was eleven years of age.” 

“Truly? It’s been eight years?” 

Chenle nods. “You went off and got married in that time, I think it’s more than likely that my friends grew in height.” 

Taeyong laughs his soft, uneven laugh. “You’ve developed a wit in my absence as well.” 

Chenle opens his mouth to reply, but at that moment, someone speeds into the dining room, seemingly having sprinted through the doorway. 

He skids to a halt just as the conversation within the room dies down, and Taeyong’s eyes go wide. “That’s just the one,” he whispers slowly. “Indeed, he has grown in height.” 

Jisung stands frozen still at the front of the room, eyes wide and unblinking as he looks around. “Ah,” he exhales finally. “I’ll come back.” 

He goes as far as to spin on his heel to leave the room before Jaehyun speaks up for the first time that night. “Wait,” He calls. “Sit down. We have space—“ 

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” Jisung quickly replies. He’s visibly flustered, cheeks reddening and voice strained. “I’d come under the impression that no one else would be here.” 

Everyone’s head turns simultaneously to face Chenle, whose face is frozen in a wide-eyed gape. 

“I’ll just need a moment of your time—“ Jisung rambles on. 

Chenle stands abruptly. “Excuse me,” He says, turning and walking off towards Jisung, who looks as though startled as he walks out of the dining room. 

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Chenle appends, peeking his head back through the doorway before Jisung tugs him back. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

Only when conversation starts up again does Chenle allow himself to collapse in the same armchair on the other side of the wall. 

“Are you out of your mind?” he asks calmly. 

Jisung doesn’t seem to have recovered from the encounter. “I wasn’t aware you had people over, I swear—“ 

Chenle swats at him. “Not that, you fool. What are you doing here? Whatever happened to... ‘seek me out when you learn to mind your own business’, and whatnot?” 

“I, uh,” Jisung, who’s still standing stiffly in the middle of the room, fiddles with the sleeve of his coat. “I had actually come to apologize for that.” 

“Oh.” Chenle falls silent.

“I was irritated, it was never my intent to... well. I’m sorry for yelling at you, Chenle.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“Sorry?” 

“You didn’t yell at me. You... you quietly fumed, as you tend to do.” 

“Well. In that case, my apologies for quietly fuming at you.” 

Chenle gets in little quarrels with Jisung all the time, but never once has one of them come to apologize. Disagreements simply fade away until forgotten.

It’s unfamiliar, which is most likely why Chenle feels his face warm at the words. 

“Sit down,” he mutters, pointedly avoiding Jisung’s eyes, “You look so uncomfortable.” 

“Perhaps I am.” Jisung sits in the chair beside him, staring into the unlit hearth. 

Instead of inquiring as to why that is, Chenle simply clears his throat. “If it would serve to calm your nerves, I do suppose my own apology is in order.” 

Jisung looks up in surprise. 

“I suppose I could be more courteous in my pursuit of this... hobby. I need to be more receptive to criticism, as well. And less intrusive.” Chenle raises his eyebrows. “Yes?” 

“Yes. I do appreciate you saying that.” 

Chenle follows Jisung’s gaze to the front of the room.

“Even,” Jisung continues, “if I know you’ll make no changes to your behavior whatsoever. In fact, I’m sure you have your sights set on a new couple already.” 

“Now— wait a minute,” Chenle sits up straight. “What evidence have you of that?” 

Jisung looks at him as though it should be obvious. “You have that glint in your eye.” He glances away. “Don’t deny me, I know I’m right. Who are they?” 

“You must have gone truly insane to think I would tell you.” 

“Fair enough.” 

When Chenle looks up again, Jisung’s wearing a slight smile. “So, friends?” He asks, extending his hand. 

Chenle looks down at it, brow furrowed. “I was under the impression that we were always friends, Jisung.” Still, he takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. “We’re still friends when you throw your temper tantrums.” 

“Good. Then we’re still friends when you make a show of your superiority complex.” 

“Hmm.” Chenle smiles sweetly. 

Jisung returns it. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

For some time after that, days pass slowly, routinely. Nothing of consequence quite happens in Chenle’s life. 

The dinner ends, everyone leaves. 

Chenle spends the next few days bickering with Jisung as usual. It feels, in a sense, as though everything has returned to normal. 

But there is no normal, for Chenle. There is simply the way things used to be. And even that has not been completely restored. 

Today, he sits at the cushioned sill by the large window in his room. 

Shotaro sits facing him, long legs pulled close to his chest. 

Winter is setting in, as cold as it is wet. A dreary one this year. 

Chenle lets his mind drift from one thing to another, resting his head against the glass. He’s almost on the verge of falling asleep when—

“There’s something you’ve said, Chenle, that I cannot manage to remove from my thoughts.” 

Shotaro looks at Chenle earnestly, so earnestly that Chenle cannot help but lift his head back up and give the boy his attention. “Pray, what is it?” 

There’s a second of silence. Shotaro lets his own head fall onto the glass with a sad thunk. “How does one know if they are in love?” 

Of all the things Chenle had expected, that was not one. “You’re still thinking about that?”

He receives no reply. 

“Why, do you believe you might be—“ 

It can’t be. Chenle is fully alert now. It simply can’t be, he’s barely begun his gentle coercing—it would be far too early for Shotaro to fall for Sungchan. 

It’s unlikely, but not impossible. Jung Sungchan is both handsome and charming, so Chenle cannot imagine it must be too difficult to...

“I was just wondering. You read of the feeling in books, see it in couples passing by,” Shotaro says wistfully. “I ask for no reasons apart from sentimental ones.” 

Chenle supposes he cannot blame him for that. “I see sentimentality is something we share.” 

Shotaro smiles. 

“I am most regretful, however, to state that truly I have never fallen in love either.” 

“I remember you mentioning that, but… it strikes me as quite strange.”

“Whatever reason for?” 

“Well—you’re quite a handsome boy, Chenle. And kind as well.” 

Shotaro sounds so innocent when he speaks, as though he truly hasn’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about. 

“Others’ feelings have little to do with my own, Shotaro. I’m sure someone, somewhere has been infatuated with me, but never once have I felt the same.” 

Chenle looks back up to see Shotaro concealing an expression of disappointment, and his heart all but breaks. “I can, however, imagine,” he adds hastily. 

Shotaro tilts his head, light hair brushing against the glass as he does so. 

Chenle smiles conspiratorially. “I too have read my fair share of novels.” 

“What have you gathered from them?” 

“Well... Love must feel different from simply liking someone. Perhaps not as dramatic as in stories, but different.” He pauses. “I imagine such differences would be hard to notice unless you truly pay attention.” 

“Like realizing you think about someone more than you’ve thought about anyone else before?” Shotaro asks shyly.

“Maybe. Most probably. I’m not sure.” Chenle replies. 

Shotaro hums, tucking his knees closer under his chin. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Kun seems to dote on Jisung more than he’s ever doted on Chenle. 

It’s not with any jealousy that Chenle observes this. Just a strange fascination. 

Jisung is awkward, with long limbs he does not quite know how to control and the unchanging face of a child. 

He is too emotional but not emotional enough. He’s too innocent, but knows far too much. 

For whatever reason, Kun adores him.

Perhaps Jisung is the ideal son. Chenle, not being a father, would have no way of knowing. 

Perhaps Jisung is what Kun wishes Chenle had been. Polite and studious. Curious about everything and nothing. Handsome, but not in an obnoxious way. 

“Is anything the matter, Lele?” 

Lele. 

It’s Lele only when he’s happy. 

“No,” Chenle replies, propping his head up on a hand. “Why?” 

“You’re looking at me in a peculiar way.” 

“No?” 

Kun looks between them with concern written on his face before glancing down at the watch he keeps in his pocket. “Ah, I’d forgotten. I have to be somewhere,” he says, not at all apologetically. “Sorry.” 

He does not have anywhere to be. He hasn’t had anywhere to be in years. 

Kun gives Jisung a nod of his head, one that Jisung returns courteously with a tight lipped smile. 

And then he leaves. 

Chenle, far too preoccupied to be betrayed, fakes a yawn as soon as his father is out of the room. 

Jisung squints. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Why, I’m on top of the world.”

“That look... You’re overthinking again,” comes the immediate reply. “You are. It’s horrible for your health, Lele. You could contract a fever or something.” 

Chenle raises an eyebrow. “I can think myself into a fever? How interesting. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if there ever happens to be a gathering I’m not inclined to attend.” 

Jisung assumes his concerned look, a unique frown that is somehow reminiscent of a baby bird pouting. “I’m serious.” 

“As am I!”

“I worry for you, love.” 

Chenle’s heart stills within his chest, but he takes care not to show it. “Much time has passed since I last heard ‘love’ from your mouth.” 

“That is only due to the fact that you’ve found some new way to vex me every few days.” 

His heartbeat resumes. 

“I see. My apologies for that.” 

Jisung hums. “Well, to compensate, you could begin by telling me what it is you’ve been thinking about so intensely.” 

“Hmm. You.” 

Chenle tells himself that he only said that to watch Jisung fluster, but it is the truth. 

And Jisung does fluster accordingly. 

“Your cheeks have gone red,” Chenle muses barely a moment later. 

“Shut up, Lele.” 

It’s Lele when he’s happy. 

Chenle grins, victorious as Jisung directs his gaze downwards to the floor. 

He’s about to prod further when the door opens quite suddenly and a bewildered looking Shotaro stumbles in, pale hair a little too wind-blown. 

The boy glances between the pair and his eyes go wide. “Ah, I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, no,” Jisung replies before Chenle can open his mouth. His face has not quite lost its blush. “I was just leaving.” 

“Oh—“ Shotaro watches Jisung hurriedly stand and walk towards the door. Only after he has turned around does Jisung look back and childishly stick his tongue out at Chenle. 

He does not provide Chenle an opportunity to return it, spinning on his heel and walking quickly out.

Shotaro grimaces as soon as Jisung is out of earshot. “I truly didn’t mean to drive your friend away.” 

Chenle shakes his head. “You needn’t worry, it was my own fault.” He blinks a few times. “You are without a coat, Shotaro. It’s horribly cold out, how are you... alive?” 

“I am just barely hanging on, sir.” Shotaro replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He breaks into a smile so wide that Chenle might actually feel a sense of alarm at the sight. 

He laughs. “My, what’s happened to you?” 

“That is, in fact, what I’d come to discuss.” Shotaro replies, bright eyes curving into happy crescents. 

“Well, then. Come in so we can discuss it!”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

In all honesty, it shouldn’t have surprised Chenle.

It truly shouldn’t have, but it did. 

“Mr. Huang has asked... to marry you?” 

They’re sitting by the upstairs window again, only today the glass feels colder against Chenle’s back. 

And Shotaro is still grinning, holding a letter from a silver-haired horse boy.

Chenle hadn’t acted quickly enough, had he? 

He feels like an idiot, but plasters on a smile. “That’s wonderful news! What say you?” 

“Well...” Shotaro falters slightly, eyes darting down to the parchment again. “I haven’t known Renjun too long, and I can’t fathom why he’d ask this of me, but—“ 

“Oh, never mind all that.” Chenle swats at him. “Do you love him?” 

It’s a simple question in theory, but an evil one all the same. Chenle chews at the inside of his cheek.

Shotaro looks up, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know. I suppose?” 

“You suppose?” Chenle repeats. 

“Oh, Chenle.” Shotaro’s shoulders droop. “Do you think I ought to refuse him?” 

“That’s your decision entirely. But, if you’re not sure...” He trails off here. “I think you ought to do what feels right, my dear.” 

Chenle feels horrible, but something within him is insistent. 

“If you doubt your feelings, perhaps it’s not the right time. Marriage is quite a commitment.” 

Shotaro looks small, staring down at the letter and rereading it for what must be at least the tenth time since he’d arrived. His soft eyes betray a vulnerability that Chenle feels he should not be privy to. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” 

Chenle hums, avoiding eye contact. 

“I should write back,” Shotaro sighs. 

“Yes, do that.” 

And thus the relationship is over before it begins. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno throw small parties every now and then, for no occasion or reason whatsoever except to entertain the wealthy young adults in town. 

They have far too much time on their hands, but Chenle never complains as he fits into the aforementioned category quite well. 

Today, however, Chenle can’t find it in himself to move and get ready.

It’s been around a week since he spoke to Shotaro, and they haven’t met since. Chenle still feels off about it, a mix of guilt and concern brewing within him whenever he goes. 

Even Kun has noticed the change, though he’s made it quite clear that he wants no part of whatever it is that has caused Chenle such distress.

There’s no point in all this moping, he decides. It’s selfish to be so wrapped up in regret like this. 

What’s done is done. 

And thus Chenle gets dressed and takes the carriage alone, hoping some company will be able to cheer him up. 

It’s a different kind of cold today. Crisp and biting against Chenle’s skin. His breath fogs as he steps out of the carriage, frost-coated grass crunching under his boots with every step. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets and steps into the house, hit by a wall of warmth from the hearth near the foyer upon entry.

Chenle’s just barely stepped inside when Kim Yerim latches herself onto his arm. 

“Chenle!” She grins up at him. “My, how long has it been since we last met?” 

“I—well, I imagine it must have been very long indeed,” Chenle replies, trying very subtly to wrench his arm out of her grasp. “Ms. Kim, if you wouldn’t mind terribly—“ 

“There you are, Yeri.” Comes another voice—Jaemin, all pale blue velvet and white ruffles, swooping in smoothly from a doorway that Chenle swears wasn’t there before. “Come, I have something to tell you.” 

He shoots Chenle a wink as he drags Yerim out of the room. “How are you, my dear Chenle?” He asks, voice smooth. Chenle isn’t given a moment to respond. 

And so he stands awkwardly in the center of the foyer. Chenle’s been there for just about five seconds, but he’s already regretting having come. 

In the corners of the room stand a few small groups and couples, carrying on with their own conversation and leaving Chenle to stare blankly up at the chandelier in the center of the ceiling, right above his head. 

And that is what he does until Jeno comes to save him, clapping him lightly on the back and proceeding to pull him away by the arm. 

“Oh—hello, Mr. Lee.” Chenle manages as politely as possible considering that he’s being dragged across the room. “You’ve gotten stronger.” He remarks offhandedly, then grimaces. 

Jeno pauses, looking back at Chenle with an amused smile. “Perhaps you’ve gotten lighter.” 

“Perhaps. But I find it more likely that you’ve developed a talent for pulling people around; it seems your husband shares a similar passion.” 

At this, Jeno laughs, dropping Chenle’s arm. “You’ve barely been here three minutes, and yet you’ve seen such scenes unfold.” 

“I come here every month, at any given second either you or Mr. Na appears on the verge of a physical altercation,” Chenle rambles, unsure of how he got to this moment. 

“You needn’t worry. We are all peace loving creatures, here. However, we’re social ones as well.” 

With that, Jeno pushes Chenle into the dining room. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

“Zhong Chenle. My, my. If my eyes do not deceive me—“ 

“It is by some cruel twist of fate that I ended up sitting beside you, Park Jisung.” 

Jisung smiles warmly at Chenle’s left, eyes narrowing in a way both joyful and threatening. “I’m simply surprised that you’ve left your house. I’d been under the impression that you’d had some schemes to be making, master plans to be crafting. It appears I was wrong.” 

Chenle rolls his eyes and looks away, glancing around the expansive table. Candles and flowers decorate a white tablecloth, simple but pleasing enough to the eye that Chenle can focus all his attention on the arrangement without it appearing out of the ordinary. 

Jisung, as usual, sees right through him. “Hmm. I wonder what it is about that vase that so captivates you.” 

“This vase is far more attractive than you could ever be.” Chenle counters. 

“We’ve hit a new low, Zhong. Really, insults to my appearance? Do better.” 

Jisung’s smile is audible, and thus Chenle relents. He leans back in his chair, breaking character. 

“I’m afraid I am incapable of doing better at the moment. You’ve won this one.” With that, he sticks out a hand for Jisung to shake. 

“Oh, thank heavens,” the boy replies. “Now I can ask what’s truly been bothering you.” 

Chenle goes stiff, pulling his hand quickly away. “And why should you care?” 

“Because I adore you, you fool.” 

The din around the table naturally quiets at the exact moment, and Chenle and Jisung share a brief look of panic before conversation around them starts up once again. 

“The look on your face—“ Chenle bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Why, are you so embarrassed of adoring me?” 

“It’s embarrassing to say it aloud to anyone other than you.” The tips of Jisung’s ears are going red. “It’s embarrassing to profess it to a room full of aristocratic teenagers.” 

Chenle takes a sip of water. “Most of us are a bit past the teenager stage, but your point is valid. And for what it’s worth,” he says, raising the volume of his voice slightly, “I adore you as well.” 

No one bats an eye.

“Thank... you,” Jisung says cautiously. “Now, what’s on your mind? Why haven’t we spoken in the past week?” 

“I, uh, suppose I just needed some time to be alone.” Chenle shrugs. “I’m alright. You needn’t worry that pretty head of yours.” 

“Was it not two minutes ago that you called me uglier than a vase?” 

“I look at you with fresh eyes after realizing your concern for me, Jisung.” 

Jisung raises his eyebrows. “In that case, I shall make my concern more known by tenfold.” 

Chenle isn’t allowed time to interpret that statement, because almost everyone else around the table stands quite suddenly, leaning towards the large windows on either side of the room. 

“What’s happening?” Chenle asks detachedly. 

Sungchan, on Chenle’s other side, gives a minuscule shrug of his shoulders. “They’ve seen snow.” 

Jisung makes a noise of surprise. “Is that all? Have they never seen snow before?” 

“Truly,” Sungchan laughs, “I should be the more worried by this development. I walked here.” 

“Oh, you needn’t fret,” Chenle pipes up. “You can share my carriage, I’ve come alone.” 

Sungchan looks caught off guard. “Thank you, Mr. Zhong.” 

Jisung leans over the table as though doing so will prevent Chenle from hearing. “Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Jung. If I had been the one in your place, he’d no doubt leave me to freeze to death in the snow.” 

“Really, Jisung,” Chenle snorts. “If you’d freeze to death in this much snow, I question why natural selection hasn’t done you away already.” 

Sungchan makes a strained coughing noise and turns away. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

Chenle wonders if he should try to salvage the situation. 

He quickly decides that he must. He and Shotaro and even poor Huang Renjun have been through so much for it already. 

But Sungchan looks so unsuspecting, staring out the window of Chenle’s dark carriage. 

Snow falls slowly outside, floating weightlessly to decorate the grass in a thin sheet of pristine white. 

It’s clear to Chenle that he’s made quite a mistake. 

“Do you like the cold, Mr. Jung?”

Sungchan hums. “I can’t say that I do.” His eyes dart towards Chenle and then back towards the window. “I tend to prefer brighter weather. Sunny days and early spring days and the like. I feel more energized.” He rambles. 

Chenle smiles, following Sungchan’s gaze. “I share your sentiments entirely. I find bright people to be equally energizing.” He winces. He’s usually a bit smoother, a little better at this.

But, there’s no going back now.

“I should think everyone would be more inclined to spend time with someone bright than with someone dull and sad, but I do understand.” 

“I have a friend who I find particularly nice company in that sense. Always happy and smiling,” Chenle continues clumsily. 

“Do I know said friend?” 

“You do. Osaki Shotaro?” 

“Oh yes!” Sungchan’s eyebrows shoot up. “He did seem quite nice.” 

“He is. He’s a lovely person to be around, always so filled with joy.” 

There’s silence for a moment, and Chenle thinks he’s really stepped in it this time. 

“Mr. Zhong,” Sungchan starts slowly, “Pardon my bluntness, but the way you speak—are you quite in love with Mr. Osaki?” 

Chenle’s jaw drops. “What? No! Are you?” 

“What?” 

“Wait—“ 

“I’ve spoken to him barely once, why would I—?” Sungchan cuts himself off here. “Please don’t misunderstand me, I’ve had many amicable thoughts of the boy, but only thoughts of—well, _friendship_.” 

Chenle nods vigorously. “Forgive me, it was a slip of the tongue.” 

They don’t speak for a moment. 

Chenle is absolutely fucked. 

“I’ve never been in love,” Says Sungchan meekly. 

“Oh, me neither. I never meant to say—“ 

“But, if there was any one person in this town who I might potentially find myself attracted to, it would be you.” 

The carriage’s wheel catches in a small ditch, and Chenle briefly feels as though he’s falling backwards. 

“Oh.” 

Sungchan looks quickly up, sheet-white and horrified. “Oh.” 

The rest of the ride continues in silence. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

The snow keeps falling through the next morning, but it begins to disappear, melting as soon as it hits the ground. 

It’s a cold, wet day, and Jisung looks horrible. 

“I’ve never seen anyone more distraught at a confession of love than you are right now, Mr. Zhong.” 

Horrible. Jisung is far too put together for a day like this, in the burgundy coat that he’s finally managed to grow into after three years and wearing that—stupid look, too shy to truly be a smile but too obnoxious to be anything less. 

Jisung’s hair, the golden color of fresh hay, falls into dark eyes curved with happiness. 

Chenle can’t bear to look at him.

“Stop smiling at me, Park. You’d be just as distraught if you understood the situation in its entirety.” 

“Explain it to me?” Jisung asks with a tilt of his head. 

“Chenle scoffs, “Why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m the one person who cares for you. Apart from—my apologies—this mystery admirer you have.” 

“He’s not a mystery admirer!” 

“Then who is he?” 

Chenle squares his jaw and looks away. “I don’t know why you insisted on walking through the square today, it’s bloody cold—“ 

“Who is he, Chenle?” 

Jisung puts on an obnoxious pout.

It takes an embarrassingly short time for Chenle to cave. “Oh, alright. You mustn’t tell anyone, are we clear?” 

He waits for a nod in response. 

“It was Jung Sungchan.” 

Jisung snorts. “Really? You’re standing here depressed over a confession from Jung Sungchan?” 

“Am I not allowed to be?” 

“Well— he’s quite desirable, as us lads go.” 

Chenle stops short. “What?” 

“I only mean,” Jisung says, turning slowly around, “He’s attractive. And rich. And polite.” 

“Everyone in this town is attractive and rich and polite, Jisung. It is simply unfortunate because he happened to be one of the—“

“One of the?” 

Chenle relents. “One of the people I had been attempting to set up,” he grumbles, trudging forward heavily to catch up to Jisung. “Half of a pair that will never happen now.” 

“You must be joking.” 

“I wish I were.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Jisung bursts out laughing. 

“Shut up, Park!” 

“No, I—“ he wheezes. “I can’t believe that this is truly happening.” 

Chenle narrows his eyes. “Alright, I admit to my having made a few mistakes. How very amusing.”

“I should have foreseen an outcome like this. It’s marvelous.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying—oof!” 

Someone collides into Chenle from behind, sending him stumbling forward. He glances back after regaining his footing. 

Jisung stops laughing. 

The boy behind them widens his soft eyes, running an absentminded hand through honey-colored hair. “My apologies, I hadn’t been looking where I was going—“ 

“Oh, no,” Chenle is quick to wave him off. 

Cheble hasn’t seen this boy before, and there’s no way he could be from nearby. His skin and hair are too kissed by sun for him to be accustomed to such winters. 

They stand there, frozen and arranged in a triangle while passers-by continue on walking around them. 

“Again, I really am sorry, but would you mind terribly if I requested directions?” The boy asks, his voice clear and gentle. “I’ve never come around here, so—“ 

“By all means, go ahead!” Chenle replies chipperly. “Where might your destination lie?” 

“Ah, perhaps you could help me find my uncle, Ten Lee? He runs a boys’ school nearby.” 

Jisung inhales so sharply that it’s audible. “Pardon me, but you couldn’t be— who are you?” 

“Me? Lee Donghyuck,” the boy says, looking slowly between Chenle and Jisung. “Why do you ask?” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

The news of Donghyuck’s arrival is the talk of the town for the following week. Everyone had heard a great deal before seeing him. 

Most hadn’t expected him to be a handsome, well-mannered man of 20 years. 

Chenle hears a plethora of different rumors, and the gossip is almost enough for him to forget about his own situation. 

Some say he’s staying with Ten as his mother has taken ill. Others suspect it more in character for him to have run away from home. 

Donghyuck is apparently quite a singer. He’s finished school, and is looking to find the path his life might take. He does not appear to be giving romance the slightest consideration. 

Chenle hasn’t truly seen him since that first day. He wonders what might happen if he attempted to strike up a friendship with the boy... After all, it’s not often at all that new people come to their town. 

Jungwoo is overjoyed when he mentions it. 

“This truly is astounding,” He states, smile soft as usual. 

They have returned once again to the robin’s-egg blue parlor of Jungwoo’s home, sans Shotaro and Sungchan. 

“Really, so many new people have arrived here of late. I wonder if it is simply a good year...” 

“Perhaps,” Chenle hums. “Oh, Jungwoo, how I wish I could know everyone around once again.” 

“But you can. You do have quite a talent for making people your friends.” 

As Chenle considers this, the door opens. 

He spins around in his seat and sees yet another unfamiliar face. 

Another annoyingly handsome familiar face. 

Chenle fears he might die and continue on to heaven prematurely. 

“Ah, Mark!” Jungwoo smiles widely. “You’ve come! How are you, my dear?” 

This Mark grins at the address, brushing blonde hair out of his eyes. “I am well.” He lets out a minuscule giggle. “How do you fare? And what of Yukhei?” 

“We’re both faring quite well,” Jungwoo replies, eyes curving with the intensity of his grin. “Oh, Chenle, this is Mark Lee— Yukhei’s brother. Mark, Zhong Chenle is a young friend of mine.”

Chenle smiles politely up at the man, feeling his ears burn. 

“Why— Chenle, perhaps you can show Mark around town sometime?” Jungwoo suggests. “Might prove beneficial for both of you.” 

Quickly regretting his remark about wanting newer friends, Chenle bites down on his lip. 

He looks up at Mark apologetically, but the boy only smiles in response. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

“You’re Mr. Wong’s brother?” Chenle asks. 

They’re walking through the busy square lined with shops. Chenle felt as though this might be a good place to show, full of life even in the dead of winter. 

Thus far, Mark seems quite likeable. Effervescent and excitable, like a puppy. 

And his face just happens to be perfect. Chenle doesn’t know whether to be jealous of or attracted to him. 

“I suppose I am,” Mark replies. “Through some relation between our parents. It’s unclear.” 

Chenle’s next question remains unasked, but Mark answers it anyways. 

“I felt horrible for missing his wedding, it... it slipped my mind.” 

Chenle laughs at this, and Mark looks at him sadly. 

“It’s all the more worse because I am serious.” 

“You sincerely forgot your brother’s wedding?” 

“I fear I may always have been a little stupid.” 

“I... I truly doubt that’s the case, Mr. Lee.” 

Mark shrugs, signaling a cutoff to the conversation. He looks up to the barely-blue sky. “Regardless, I am here now. To wish him and his husband well, if nothing more.” 

Chenle is unsure of what to say in response. After a moment, he decides that more questions might be his safest bet.

“Where do you come from, Mr. Lee?” 

Mark looks him dead in the eye and replies, “I don’t know.” 

“Pardon me?” 

“I don’t live anywhere in particular,” He continues with a warm smile. “I tend to travel a lot. Some call me a free spirit, but I’ve never quite liked the phrase.” 

“Ah,” Chenle replies, pretending to understand. 

Chenle has barely known Mark a few hours, and already he finds himself perplexed by his existence. 

“Is it a nice life?” 

“I suppose. Like most things, it has its fluctuations and unfortunate events, but... yes, it’s quite nice.” Mark turns to look at Chenle. “You do whatever you please a lot of the time.” 

“True freedom,” He replies with a laugh. “What is your favorite thing to do?” 

Mark considers this. “Perhaps attending balls and parties and the like. I quite like music.” 

“Well, now that you’re here...” 

Chenle hasn’t the faintest clue where he is going with this. 

“... why don’t we have a ball of our own?” 

Oh, how Chenle has managed to screw up once again, biting off more than he can chew on a whim. Mark looks at him with wide, twinkling eyes. 

“Can we?” 

“I don’t see why not.” 

Mark grins. Angels sing somewhere. 

“In that case, I do agree. A ball is in order.” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Three days later, Chenle’s still reeling from both of his recent encounters.

Donghyuck still continues to be the subject of much hushed conversation, what with his flawless appearance and gentle, warm manner. 

Most seem enamored with him, and Jisung happens not to be an exception. Chenle sees the way his eyes glint ever so slightly when Donghyuck is mentioned. 

But Chenle finds himself taken with Mark in a way that’s flat-out embarrassing. Everything from his mysterious yet playful demeanor to his youthful smile is annoyingly captivating, and Chenle hasn’t a clue what to do about it. 

Kun, as per usual, decides to stay removed from all the drama. 

“You young people,” He sighs at breakfast. “Always excited about something or the other.”

Chenle had decided on the spot that he needed to associate with more young people. 

What he hadn’t expected was for one to walk into his house not two hours later. 

But, alas, that is what happens. 

Shotaro peeks into his room awkwardly, as though asking for an invitation in. 

Chenle grants it by very gracefully dropping his book and tripping over his feet on the way to the door. “Shotaro,” he says dumbly. “What are you doing here?” 

“Should I leave? I should leave.” The boy grimaces up at Chenle, but he is promptly dragged into the room. 

“No, please don’t. I... I had been under the impression that you were upset with me.” 

“Why would that be?” 

Chenle gapes. “It’s been near a month since we’ve last met. I thought it might have been related to Ren— Mr. Huang, and my, well, ideas of him.” 

“Oh no,” Shotaro shakes his head vigorously, pulling Chenle’s hand off his arm and giving it a squeeze. “That had been a different matter entirely, I’d— I thought you were angry with me.” 

“I am not. I— I was not.” 

Chenle blinks. 

“Oh.” Shotaro hesitates for a moment before brushing him off. “Let’s not dote on that, hmm? Everything is alright now, I believe.” He grins. “Now, have I missed anything?” 

“Hardly,” Chenle replies, breaking away to sit at the edge of his bed. “Most people seem preoccupied with thoughts of our newest neighbors.” 

“Right!” Shotaro snaps. “I happened to run into them both, Mr. Lee and... Mr. Lee.” He pauses. “They have the same name. How do we differentiate them?” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Chenle says honestly. “You met them separately?” 

“No, they were walking together. I wonder if they’ve met before.”

“Huh. Perhaps.” He falters. “Never mind all that. How are you faring?” 

“Well. I am very well. Actually—“ 

The door opens again, startling both of them into silence. 

Jisung looks between Chenle and Shotaro. “My apologies. I’ll come back.” 

Chenle groans. “Dear me, why must it be so horrifically awkward when both of you are in the same place? You’re both my close friends, please at the very least sustain a conversation so that each interaction is not this painful—“ 

“Oh, um,” Jisung says quietly. “I’d only just come to tell you something. Maybe you’d benefit from hearing it as well, Mr. Osaki?” 

Shotaro nods. 

Jisung hesitates before stating, “I’ve heard there’s to be a ball.” 

Of course. 

Chenle claps a hand over his mouth, previous conversation quickly forgotten. 

He should have expected nothing less of Mark Lee. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

That is, in a way, how Chenle comes to share his carriage with both Shotaro and Jisung on the day. 

They live in a quiet town, save for a widespread penchant for gossip. Parties happen, but balls.... do not. 

Then again, the whole event could be attributed to Zhong Chenle and Mark Lee—a loud-mouthed troublemaker and a free-spirited foreigner. 

“Though, I must mention,” Jisung appends, “I’ve heard the event itself, in organization, must be attributed to Mr. Kim and Mr. Wong.” 

“You’ve heard this and that, Jisung. I’d somehow assumed you weren’t one for... tales heard through the grapevine.” Chenle replies tiredly. “It appears I was mistaken.” 

They’ve been arranged with Chenle sitting across from Shotaro and Jisung, both of whom are clinging to their respective sides of the car in order to prevent accidentally touching the other. 

Chenle finds their dynamic quite amusing. 

“My, this whole affair is so very exciting,” Shotaro says quickly, desperate to change the subject. “Are either of you looking to dance with anyone?” 

Chenle laughs. “A very tactful way of asking who has caught our respective fancies, Taro.” 

Shotaro reddens. 

“I don’t believe that was his intention. And I’m not looking to dance with anyone,” Jisung replies politely, but not after hesitating for an incriminatingly long time. 

Chenle leans conspiratorially towards Shotaro. “Come now, Sungie. You’re not special, half the town is looking to dance with Mr. Lee.” 

“I—“ Jisung cuts himself off, glaring. 

Shotaro looks between the pair of them. “Which Mr. Lee..?”

“One of them,” Jisung smiles coyly. “Whichever one Chenle isn’t infatuated with.” 

It is now Chenle’s turn to silently fume. 

“I see,” Shotaro says quietly.

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

The three of them are met with utter chaos as soon as they enter the hall. 

The entire town must be in attendance. Music is playing, but it is barely audible over the din. 

Once again, this should have been expected of Mark Lee.

Jisung, Chenle, and Shotaro are pressed up against the wall almost immediately, for there are people everywhere. 

“My word,” Jisung breathes. He looks upward to the high ceiling of the hall, decorated with elaborate lights and curved molding. 

Shotaro doesn’t appear deterred in the slightest, which is both uncharacteristic and highly concerning. “I’m going to dance,” he says, and promptly disappears. 

Chenle looks to Jisung, horrified. “Why people.” He states desperately, only managing a fragment of his fully built sentence. 

Jisung nods gravely in response. “Stay together?” He asks, extending a hand. 

“Stay together.” 

And so they do, wading through the crowd in search of a less densely populated spot. 

They land somewhere still close to an edge of the room, though they’ve now located two empty chairs. 

Chenle decides it might be better to observe the chaos for now rather than to involve in it himself. “Well,” he says unthinkingly. “This is quite something, is it not?” 

“It is.” Jisung looks around, taking in the elaborate costumes and perfected dances. “I might truly enjoy myself if I were not so horrifically dysfunctional in social situations.” 

“I agree,” Chenle laughs. “At least Mark must be enjoying himself.” 

Jisung turns and gives him a prolonged, earnest look, fidgeting with the collar of the forest green coat he scarcely ever wears. 

Chenle is both caught off guard and unsettled by it. “What is it?” He asks. 

“Well, I— I have a question.” Jisung exhales heavily. “Forgive me, but... Chenle, do you really like Mark all that much?” 

Chenle must have misheard. The music is so loud, the conversation around them overwhelming. And Jisung is so, so quiet. 

“Wait, I never said— Jisung, what?” Chenle furrows his brow, leaning back in surprise. “I’m not quite understanding you.” 

Not only has Chenle barely said a word about Mark (that he can remember), but… 

“And why do you bring this up now, what makes you think I even know him that well?” 

Jisung winces. “Forget it,” he sighs. “It was just a question. I’ve heard some things.” 

“Well, stop hearing the things. Please. You’re beginning to perplex me.” 

They go quiet for a moment. 

Chenle has infinitely more questions, and he could ask them. No one would hear, for each person is too absorbed with their own happiness. 

He doesn’t ask. 

“I don’t intend to hear the things,” Jisung speaks up after a moment. His cheeks are starting to flush, like watercolor spreading across canvas. “I don’t enjoy hearing the things.” 

“And why not?” Chenle asks, curious. 

“It’s certainly not fun to hear that my best friend is—“ And Jisung cuts off here, like he’s just realizing what he’s saying. His eyes go wide. “Pardon me a moment,” He says, and disappears. 

Chenle is suddenly left alone at the ball he said he would throw for Mark Lee. He’s still wearing a look of pure confusion, sitting by the corner of the room. 

This is decidedly not how tonight was supposed to go. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

“Jisung! Are you running away from me?” 

It’s raining and dark outside, light streaming through the windows of the ballroom and illuminating a short distance before it. 

Chenle had just barely managed to make his way out of the hall, pushing his way out the door in the hopes that Jisung might be lingering outside and reflecting in the way he always does. 

And he is actually _there_ , standing stiff under a low awning, which irritates Chenle unfathomably. 

“We’ve only just got here, what are you doing running off?” He asks. 

Chenle’s talking to Jisung’s back, and brushes away any hesitation before grabbing the back of Jisung’s coat and physically turning him around. 

There’s no one outside, no one around to see them, but Jisung still looks shocked and nudges Chenle away. 

Music and cacophony stream out from inside the small building, barely muffled by its walls. 

“What?” Chenle asks incredulously. “What’s gotten into you today? Are you quite alright?” 

“Yes, I am very much alright,” Jisung replies robotically. He quickly gives up on the monotone and sighs. “I’d only just asked a question, Chenle.” 

“But what for?” 

“Why don’t you answer me?” 

Chenle bites his lip. “If you’re so keen on hearing it, I would have to say no. Mark is kind, and handsome, and everything, but I have no serious romantic feelings towards him.” 

Jisung has no reaction, valiantly maintaining a frozen poker face. 

“Now that I’ve said that, you have to finish your sentence. What in hell are you hearing about me?” 

They’re both pressed against the wall to keep from soaking in the rain. 

The music still plays inside. 

Jisung says nothing. 

“J—“ 

“I don’t like to hear the gossip because I don’t enjoy imagining my best friend smitten with some strange man I’ve never met.” 

Something about the answer, delivered straight-faced and unemotional still, ticks Chenle off. He cannot place what. “Is that truly it?” 

“What hurts more,” Jisung continues, turning to make eye contact, “is the fact that I didn’t hear it from you.” 

They remain like that for too long, staring into one another’s eyes in a heavy silence. 

Chenle swallows. “You’re lying.” 

Jisung’s facade breaks. “I’m lying?” He repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“That cannot be why you’re upset with me. I’ve known you eighteen years, I can read you like a book.” 

“Then why don’t you?” Jisung blurts. 

Chenle squints. “What?” 

Jisung must have decided that he’s in too far to back out now, because he grimaces and says, “Chenle, you match-make for amusement. You notice even the slightest hints of attraction or tension between others, but... you remain oblivious to what’s right in front of you.” 

“I can’t read a book if it’s not open, you fool,” Chenle replies, still fixated on the metaphor. He is fully agitated now. 

Jisung’s stare loses some of its intensity, his dark eyes going soft for a split second. The hostility returns when he asks, “Then how’s this for opening it?”

And Chenle cannot ask what on earth he is still talking about because Jisung’s hands come up to cup the sides of his face and he is forced to relent. 

Jisung presses a fast, feverish kiss to his lips, one that leaves Chenle feeling nothing but an unexplained anger when they break away— anger that is multiplied when Jisung barely looks down at him before pulling away and walking off into the rain. 

Chenle’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, but he has chased after Jisung enough for one day. 

(Then again, Chenle wouldn’t truly be himself if he didn’t yell, “Your lips are chapped!” at Jisung’s retreating figure, loud enough for half the town to hear.) 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂ 

Now seems a good place to end Chenle’s story. 

He’s confused, a little hurt, and astoundingly lonely— but Jisung’s abrupt confession and prompt disappearance were startling in their finality. 

Chenle spends the following days trying to battle a sudden, perpetual feeling of boredom. It overtook him at the very moment that he returned home from the ball, and Chenle is yet to find a cure. 

He wallows about his house, trying not to think about Jisung. Chenle finds himself infuriated by the flutter of his heart that results every time that boy so much as crosses his mind. 

And so he stays in one place, unthinking and unfeeling. Everything in his usually colorful life has hit a lull, and Chenle feels that if he were a character in a novel, his author might do well to pick their quill up off the page and stop here. 

But, alas, Chenle is his own author. And life simply goes on. 

“Are you not being a bit dramatic, my son?” Kun asks on one of many uneventful nights. 

Chenle turns to gaze out the window at the darkness. “No, not at all. You might feel the same if you knew the whole story.” 

“Well, thank heavens I have no interest in the whole story.” 

Kun is smiling sadly when Chenle whips around to glare. 

“I scarcely ever worry for you, my boy, but I must admit your behavior is nothing short of concerning.” 

“Have you considered, perhaps, that I may be experiencing a late onset of teenage mood fluctuations?” 

“You are nineteen.” 

“That is still teenage.” 

A heavy sigh, one that only a tired father could manage. “Whatever it may be, it is worrying me greatly. You are far too young to be so preoccupied with such negative emotion.” 

Chenle says nothing, setting his jaw. It’s not as though the scene outside is particularly entertaining or pleasing to the eye—nothing more than grass, trees, and colorless sky—but Chenle keeps his gaze fixed on the glass. 

A silent second passes before Chenle decides that he might as well make the situation even worse and ask, “How did you know you loved my mother?” 

Kun’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and Chenle is fairly sure this is the most expression he has seen his father show in the past five years. He gives a sideways glance to the two servant boys by the door, and they promptly disappear. 

“What?” 

“I said—“ 

“I heard you, but... why?” 

“Simply because, father.” Chenle turns slowly back to the window. “I have no reason other than the fact that hearing your reasoning may help to alleviate some of my stress...” 

He sees Kun’s confused, blank stare reflected in the window. 

“Well, if I must, I will tell you that it’s a thoroughly unusual feeling. Being in love, I mean.” Kun sighs like he cannot believe he is being forced to explain this. “Do you not read enough romance novels to educate yourself on the matter?” 

Chenle groans. “They all say different things, father. How am I to know which is correct?” 

“Oh, for— very well. In that case, I shall state that you have no way of knowing what truly is correct when it comes to... that. I personally felt as though... everything else had suddenly become unbearably boring, and that— no, I cannot do this.” Kun gives up suddenly. 

“Father!” Chenle frowns. 

“Son!” 

“You’re nearly finished, please?” 

“Chenle, my boy. I love you very much, but I am beginning to despise you.” 

“You are not, I refuse to believe it.” Chenle says chirpily. “Now, what were you saying?” 

Kun pushes up his spectacles. “If you must know, I believe that love is what you feel when everything is boring except thoughts of one person. These thoughts can be positive or negative, but... they must make you feel something.” 

“What something?” 

“Anything that’s not nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I must go and cry about the fact that you’ve somehow reached the age where these questions are relevant.” 

Chenle has no snarky response at the ready. He is slightly too occupied with thinking about how utterly screwed he is. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

The next morning, Chenle receives news that Shotaro is sick. 

He immediately feels horrible for having forgotten of Shotaro’s existence. It’s been near a week since the ball, and Chenle hadn’t had the chance to speak with him since then. 

(It was less of a matter of chance, and more a matter of Chenle’s lack of an inclination to meet with others.) 

So, for the first time in far too long, Chenle leaves his house. He walks in the cold to Ten’s school, up the stairs to Shotaro’s room, and now he feels even worse. 

“It’s just a cold, you needn’t worry,” Shotaro assures him. And sneezes. 

Chenle takes a seat in a chair by the small window. “I hate being sick.” He sighs.

“As do I. I suppose it’s a valid excuse for all the time I’ve been spending locked away here with no external contact,” Shotaro says with a smile. 

It may have just been Chenle’s usual obliviousness, but he hadn’t realized how talkative Shotaro had become since their first meeting. 

He doesn’t express this. “Did you at the very least have a good time at the ball?” 

“Oh, yes. Though, I couldn’t find you again after we’d come...” 

“I left quite early on.” Chenle replies quickly. “I should have told you.” 

“No, that’s alright.” 

Chenle feels odd.

Shotaro raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you not feeling quite well?” 

There’s no sense in lying. Chenle shakes his head. “Not truly, though I can’t imagine I’m worse off than you are.” 

Shotaro laughs and then sniffles as though on cue. “I’m sincerely alright, what is it that is so bothering you?” 

“Nothing of importance. I would much rather hear of your experiences last week than talk of my problems. I imagine they were plenty exciting and... I could use some excitement,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Very well then. Let’s see...” Shotaro squints. “I met both the Mr. Lee’s again.” 

“My, I’m sure many a person in this town would very much wish to be you.” 

“Oh, no. They are both very nice people, but I don’t find them to be... well. As godlike as many make them out to be.” 

Chenle whistles. “You know us in this town. Overly dramatic and too eager for change.” 

“Perhaps.” Shotaro hums. “I don’t think they like each other very much.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes. They looked at each other as though they might burst into flames with a single accidental touch. Quite strange.” 

Chenle refrains from mentioning that night’s situation in the carriage, but he does think of it with a smile. 

And, oh no, that just as quickly makes him think of Jisung, with his damned forest green coat and chapped lips and—

“Mark would keep glancing over as though he were truly afraid of Donghyuck throughout the night.” Shotaro continues detachedly. “I wonder what it all means.” 

Why was Jisung upset in the first place? Had it been because Chenle seemed to like Mark or had it been because he was simply too stupid to realize— 

“Ch—Chenle?” 

Who had given Chenle the right to be this stupid in the first place? Especially considering that he maintains his livelihood through matchmaking, of all things? 

“Shotaro, do you remember that day?” 

“Which?” 

“It was cold and wet and we sat by my window and you asked me what love was.” Chenle rambles, near desperately. His mind is going slightly too fast. 

Shotaro’s eyes shimmer as he glances up to the ceiling. straining to remember. “Somewhat. It was a while back, was it not?” 

“Why did you ask that, Shotaro?” 

Silence. 

Chenle stares down at the floor, polished slats of wood. 

“I thought I might have been in love at the time,” Shotaro says after far too long, voice quiet and thin like the wavering, gentle pluck of a harp string. “And I think I might still be now.” 

Chenle’s mind goes blank and empty. 

He thinks, “why?” and “how?” and “with whom?” but he cannot remember if he ever asks anything aloud. 

And if he does ask, Chenle cannot recall Shotaro’s answers. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

That morning initiates what feels like a sudden streak of unnecessary social interaction. 

Then again, it’s only the second day, so Chenle can’t truly tell if it’s a streak or not. 

What he can tell is that he was having a perfectly fine time sitting there with his thoughts before Na Jaemin knocked on the damn door. 

And Kun (being Kun) stood and vanished from the room as soon as he realized who might be calling upon them, so Chenle was left alone. 

Chenle loves Jaemin, but not in the way that everyone else loves Jaemin. 

They all love his flawless smile and smooth manner and impeccable sense of style, but Chenle loves his strange sense of humor and extreme penchant for physical affection. 

Above all, Chenle loves all of the secrets Jaemin somehow knows. 

Today, however, Chenle is not sure he can handle it all. Jaemin is simply _so much_ , in terms of volume and presence and appearance and everything else. 

He would much rather spend today as yet another uneventful, lonely series of hours, wherein Chenle would do nothing but sit and think until the sun goes down as he has been for the past week. 

But Jaemin comes out of nowhere, today in lilac and lace, wearing a smile so contagious that Chenle cannot help but accept his fate. 

He finds it amusing that the servant boys rush out of the room as soon as Jaemin enters, conditioned from being forced out on every one of his past visits. 

(It’s either that, or poor Dejun is still in fear of receiving another flying kiss from him.) 

As soon as they’re out of the room, Jaemin throws his arms around a stiff Chenle and coos, “My dear cousin, how I’ve missed you.” 

Chenle can do nothing but nod and push Jaemin playfully off. He fails. “Nhguh,” he says eloquently, fighting to keep a straight face. 

He fails at that too. 

By the time Jaemin finally breaks away and puts a normal distance between the pair of them, both are smiling like idiots. 

“We’re not cousins,” Chenle realizes belatedly. 

“Sorry?” 

“We’re—well. You’re my mother’s sister’s son’s husband’s brother’s husband.” 

Jaemin grimaces. “Can’t we please just be cousins?” 

“Yes, I think cousins works fine.” Chenle clears his throat. “Anyways, what brings you here today?” 

He does not say he’s looking for gossip, but, let’s face it, he’s looking for gossip. 

One cannot blame Chenle. He’s done nothing but wallow miserably at his home for days. 

Jaemin hums. “Do you like Mark Lee?” 

Chenle grits his teeth. He should have known. 

“No. For heaven’s sake, why is near everyone under the impression that I am somehow enamored with Mark Lee? I never—“ 

“My apologies—I only mention what I hear from people!” Jaemin puts his hands up in surrender. 

“Whoever is saying such things might receive an anonymous punch in the nose.” 

“A punch in the nose cannot be anonymous, my sweet, but—“ 

“Well, I tried.” Chenle deflates slightly. “Violence is not the answer,” he mutters to himself. 

“If you seriously believe that it is possible for you to hit someone without revealing your identity, I don’t believe you should ever consider violence a potential solution to your problems.” 

“I could invest in a mask or something of the sort. Conceal my face.” 

“Chenle, my darling, I fear you might be losing your mind.” 

“That is a fair assumption to make.” 

Jaemin sighs. “Are you quite—“ 

“Don’t ask the question,” Chenle pleads, “Your answer is no. What was it you had come to tell me?” 

“Oh, that. It seems awfully insignificant now.” 

Chenle swats. “Never mind all that, just tell me!” 

“Very well,” Jaemin begins, adopting a cautious half-smile. “I’ve heard Mark Lee is engaged to be married.” 

Oh. 

Strangely enough, that was not what Chenle had expected to hear. 

“My sources are reliable!” Jaemin assures him. “Jeno is friends with Mark and all, and I thought you might have liked to—“ 

“Engaged to who?” Chenle asks. 

“Is it not obvious? Lee Donghyuck! Really, if he had taken to someone among us mortals, I doubt you’d be hearing it from me of all people.” 

Chenle thinks back to Shotaro’s words from the previous day, how— 

Oh, what sense it makes all of a sudden! 

“You were right,” Chenle says with a grin. He feels not a single ounce of jealousy, just a sudden, unadulterated joy. “I’m glad you told me.” 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Chenle cannot sleep. 

How can he be expected to, when his mind, already too occupied with thoughts of Jisung, is now busy wondering about so much else?

(“You worry so much more than you need, my dear boy,” Kun had pleaded with him earlier. “You think of anyone and everyone else before yourself, when you should be all that matters.”)

Jaemin had left after a good amount of time, having brought his usual affectionate small talk and inside jokes along with his tidbits of new information. 

Chenle has not moved since then, given, he’d migrated up to his room at some point. It has a better view. 

It’s the dead of night, now. Dark and cold, as most nights are. 

At least there are stars. 

Chenle rests his head against the cool glass, hugging his knees close to his chest and wishing Shotaro were there to ask his unanswerable questions, or that Jisung was there to offer his useless advice. 

Mark and Donghyuck must love each other. They must, the way Jeno and Jaemin or Yukhei and Jungwoo do. The way Shotaro does with… whoever he might love. 

Chenle is surrounded by love. How is it that he still cannot figure out what it—

That is quite enough. Chenle has done enough thinking for now. He should go to sleep. 

Yes, he should.

Chenle lets his eyes flutter closed, listening to the utter silence around him. 

And then something hits his fucking window, and the flimsy glass shifts just enough with the impact to deliver what feels like a weak slap to Chenle’s face. Of course, of course this had to happen. 

He looks up to see if the object has left a mark when another collides, a crystalline clink sounding before the offending pebble falls to the ground far below. 

“What in hell…” Chenle wonders aloud, scooting away from the window. 

Another hits and falls. And another, and another, clear sounds resonating through the glass. 

Chenle does nothing but watch for a second. Furrowing his brow, he leans forward and swings the window panes open in a single swift movement. 

The next pebble hits him square in the forehead. “Ah!” 

Familiar laughter sounds from below. “I’m sorry, Lele!” 

“Oh, you are _not_ sorry.” Chenle replies before he truly processes who’s below. “You enjoyed that very much, did you not?!”

Jisung’s smile is somehow evident through the pitch darkness. “I apologized!” He shouts back brightly. “Come down, will you? This hurts my throat.”

“Then suffer!” 

Chenle pulls the windows closed again, cutting Jisung off in the middle of a sentence. 

He leans back against the glass, blinking rapidly. How—?

Jisung wants to see him. Jisung wants to see him so much that he’d come and chucked rocks at his window at ten past two o’clock in the early morning, possibly committed to doing so until Chenle awoke. 

Well, Chenle thinks, running down the steps as quietly as possible, it is quite fortunate that he hasn’t caught a wink of sleep in days. 

What has gotten into him? 

He’s been bored for days, and all of a sudden…

Chenle flings the doors open like a heroine from one of his stupid novels might. 

Jisung is standing in the long grass, wearing midnight blue and a suppressed smile. 

“Hel—”

“Are you not mad at me, Jisung?” Chenle asks breathlessly, “I thought you—Why are you not mad at me?”

Jisung is caught off guard. He drops a handful of pebbles into the grass. “I—I was. But it was—I behaved foolishly. I had no right to be upset.”

Chenle says nothing, still trying to catch his breath. He knows he looks a mess right now, and cannot help but wonder what he had done to deserve this. 

“I should have said something before flying off the handle like that,” Jisung continues sheepishly, “And I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long.” 

“No,” Chenle shakes his head. “No, you shouldn’t have. I don’t care that you kissed me, or yelled at me, or ran off right after we got to that stupid ball.”

Chenle is starting to think he’s losing his mind. 

  
“But why didn’t you talk to me afterwards?  
  


Jisung stares at him, dark eyes widened and lips parted in surprise. 

They go dead silent. 

“It’s been nearly two weeks,” Chenle says weakly. “I was worried.” 

“Don’t, please don’t worry. I’m here now, and I am so sorry.” Jisung's voice cracks on every other word, and Chenle manages a smile. “How badly have I messed up, Chenle?” He asks. “How much have I hurt you?” 

Chenle shoots Jisung a bewildered look, unsure of how to answer. 

“Would you like to know?” Chenle’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and it is far too late to go back now. 

Perhaps it is just far too late, period. Chenle does not know. 

But he’s made it a habit to never think before he speaks, and so he continues on. 

“You’ve hurt me enough for me to fall in love with you, Park Jisung.” 

The impact is immediate. Jisung freezes in the shadow-painted distance. 

Chenle feels full of conviction. “I might have been in love with you all my life, or I might have only fallen last week. You have no way of knowing with these things.” 

Jisung hesitates. “No,” he says quietly. “I suppose not.” 

“Yes, well,” Chenle sighs. “There is your answer. What say you?” 

It is an unholy hour in the night, and Jisung and Chenle can barely see each other, and Chenle’s window might have a crack in it from Jisung’s rock-throwing, but everything is calm in this moment. 

Jisung still looks shocked, but his voice does not waver once as he replies, “I suppose I might love you too.”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

Now, Chenle’s story should _really_ end. His poor author must be truly exhausted, and the main conflict has been resolved. 

But Chenle doesn’t quite feel the necessary finality just yet. He and Jisung are… _something_ , now. 

Shotaro loves _someone_ , Mark and Donghyuck will end up together _sometime_ . He needs to compensate for the wrongs he has done to Renjun _somehow_. 

Chenle’s story is still going _somewhere_. 

Lord knows where. 

What matters is that everything is too ambiguous for Chenle to be completely happy with his theoretical novel’s conclusion yet. 

“Forgive me,” Shotaro says shyly, “But what sense does that make?”

Shotaro has quickly recovered from his fever, and Chenle is glad for his company. 

However, his unanswerable questions remain difficult as ever. 

“Sorry?”

“I mean,” He explains, “That none of your concerns truly pertain to yourself anymore. So why continue on like this? Why not simply… take rest for a while?”

Chenle laughs. “I could, but I’ve been selfish for far too long. I think it’s time I do some good.” 

“But you have always been doing good, have you not?”

“You would be surprised.”

It’s another cloudy day outside, the sky colored a crisp white to match the thick layer of snow atop the ground. They’re walking again, for Chenle finds that the air is much less cold when it snows. 

“Anyways, we’ve spoken enough about me for the time being,” Chenle says, patting Shotaro’s arm. “Has anything interesting happened with you?”

“Oh, not at all. Being ill has given me far too much time to think.”

“Pray, what about?” 

Shotaro says nothing, kicking at a bit of snow in their path. 

“Come now, Taro. The faster you tell me these things, the sooner I’ll be able to rest,” Chenle says innocently. “Allow me to do you some good.”

“My, it’s terrifying when you say that.” 

“Oh, for—”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Shotaro smiles brightly. 

“You’d best not have. Now, what is it that you have been thinking so hard about?”

Shotaro hesitates. “It is going to sound ridiculous once I say it aloud…” 

Chenle laughs. “I quite like ridiculous things.”

“In that case, I shall tell you only that I may have fallen for someone who will never love me back.” Shotaro flinches. “Ugh, what a thing to say.” 

“What makes you so sure that they won’t reciprocate your feelings?” 

“Please don’t say it that way, I’m getting a chill.” 

Chenle tilts his head, patting Shotaro’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry. I simply wonder why you feel that way.”

Shotaro groans. “I’m too late, Chenle, don’t you see?” 

“Late?” 

Shotaro looks at Chenle like he’s an idiot. 

Chenle feels much like an idiot. 

“Maybe,” Shotaro coaxes, “If I had realized my feelings sooner…”

Chenle nods slowly. “Oh, I see.”

“Do you?”

“Of course! It’s obvious.”

“You still haven’t a clue who I’m speaking of, do you?” 

“No, not at all.” Chenle just keeps nodding. 

Shotaro gives him a sympathetic smile and then purses his lips. “It’s alright. I suppose it’s not truly important.

Chenle feels thoroughly guilty for being unable to remember, and thinks desperately until he realizes the answer has been in front of him the entire time. 

“I’m an incompetant fool.” He blurts, shocked. 

Shotaro looks up suddenly. “What? No..?”

And once again, Chenle speaks before he thinks, and acts before he speaks. 

Chenle has already taken off running. “I’m sorry!” He calls once, and turns back around.

Shotaro stands frozen on the spot. “You’d best not be going where I think you are, Zhong Chenle!” 

There’s a disbelieving lilt, an undeniable smile in his voice.

Chenle laughs breathlessly and sprints as fast as his feet will carry him. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

It’s a few minutes later that Chenle realizes he hasn’t the faintest clue where he’s going. 

He stops short, looking around and giggling at his own idiocy. It may have been a bit obvious if Chenle had asked Shotaro where Renjun lived, but alas… It’s not as though his current situation is particularly favorable either.

What the hell does he plan to do, anyways?

“Excuse me, sir?” comes a new voice from behind Chenle, “Are you alright?” 

He whips around to see two girls, stopped in their path. One looks at him with great concern. 

“I’m alright. Yes, I am actually quite well.” Chenle smiles as charmingly as he can. “Can either of you ladies tell me where Huang Renjun might reside?” 

The taller of the two nods. “You’re already in the right direction, just continue on this way and take a left. It’s a small house. Made from brick.” 

Chenle thanks whatever higher power convinced these two girls to walk outside today.

“Thank you,” He says hurriedly, and rushes off. 

It’s slightly too cold to be running about like this, but Chenle supposes that the chill is a small price to pay for his past mistakes. 

Chenle reaches his destination quickly enough. Renjun’s house is, indeed, quite small. It’s not difficult to spot, rose-colored brick standing out against a backdrop of endless green vegetation. Ivy climbs up the walls. 

He doesn’t allow himself a second thought before giving the knocker on the door a firm tap against the wood. 

A long moment passes before Renjun himself peeks through a narrow crack in the door, still handsome and silver-haired even when wearing an express of extreme confusion. “Forgive me, but who are you?” He asks, squinting as though attempting to pinpoint where Chenle’s face might have made an appearance in his memory. 

“Zhong Chenle. We’ve barely met, just seen each other briefly outside.” Chenle turns around, casting a glance at the ‘outside’ behind him. 

“Oh.” Renjun opens the door slightly more, and Chenle abruptly realizes how short he is. “Would you perhaps like to come in?” 

Chenle steps inside at Renjun’s invitation, and finds the inside of the house to be just as charming as its exterior. “I won’t be long, I promise.” 

“Is there anything you need…?”

“Hmm?”

Renjun looks down, giving an airy, nervous laugh. “Ah, I’m unsure how to phrase this. Frankly, I’m… wondering what it is you’ve come for.” 

Chenle is suddenly aware of how awkwardly he is standing, fixed to a spot by Renjun’s door. “Ah.” He clears his throat, hoping the action will clear his mind as well. “I’m here to make a somewhat peculiar request, if you’ll allow me. Is now a good time for you?” 

Renjun hums, adjusting a vase of flowers on the small table behind him. “Any time is a good time. Do go ahead.”

“Very well. I need you to marry Osaki Shotaro.” 

The vase slips off the edge of the table, landing with a soft crash on the cherry-wood floor. 

Renjun looks at Chenle with wide eyes. “What?” 

“Forgive my phrasing, I’m sure there was a more eloquent way to—”

“No, I have no issue with your phrasing.” Renjun looks up helplessly. “But, Mr. Zhong, I’ve—well, I’ve tried.” 

Chenle winces at the reminder. “I am aware.”

“He refused me.” 

“Because I told him to.” 

This conversation is progressing far more quickly than Chenle had anticipated. 

Renjun’s mouth falls open. “Wh…” 

“Why?” Chenle shrugs. “Looking back, I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps we can attribute it to my own selfishness. Regardless, I would like to take this opportunity to personally apologize, and… perhaps plead with you to look past all that.”

“This entire situation is absurd.” 

“Oh, yes. I agree wholeheartedly. But I’ve come to ask if you still feel the same way that you felt when you sent your letter—?”

Renjun sighs, looking down to the broken glass and flowers in their puddle on the floor. “This isn’t how I’d imagined professing it, but of course. My feelings have not wavered once since I first saw that boy.” 

At this, Renjun finally meets Chenle’s eyes.

Something within Chenle’s heart swells. 

“Good. That’s the first thing I came to address. Secondly, I’m here to inform you that Shotaro appears hopelessly in love with you as well.” 

“Do you not believe yourself to be overstepping, Mr. Zhong?” Renjun asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You raise an interesting point, Mr. Huang. I’d say yes, of course.” Chenle smiles confidently. “But this is how I maintain my livelihood. I’m a professional overstepper, so to speak.” 

“A professional, you say?” 

“Of course. I’ve studied my craft for years.” 

Renjun laughs like he cannot comprehend that this is truly happening. “Very well. Perhaps I’d do well to trust you.” 

“Perhaps you would. As I was saying, Shotaro is in love with you as well. And I am justified in assuming that he is experiencing a good deal of emotional turmoil over it.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes. I might have skipped a few potential solutions, but I figured this out not ten minutes ago, so perhaps you should forgive me for jumping straight to the conclusion that marriage would be the easiest solution to this… conundrum.” Chenle chews at his lip. 

“I wouldn’t call this a conundrum,” Renjun replies slowly, “And marriage is never an easy solution.”

“That is what I am learning, but you don’t appear outwardly opposed to the idea.”

“Because I am not. I simply have no way of knowing if Shotaro agrees.” 

Chenle nods. “Theoretically, let us say that he does. What would you do then?” 

Renjun looks at Chenle like he’s stupid, and for once, Chenle welcomes it. “I would marry him.” 

“And?”

“I would stay with him.”

“Why?”

“Because I love him.” Renjun narrows his eyes. “Mr. Zhong, are you feeling quite well?”

Chenle smiles, for this isn’t the first time he’s heard this question. “Yes,” he says, and means it.

It won’t be the last time, either. 

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

“Chenle is going to be twenty-one soon, is he not?”

Kun wonders what exactly it is that Ten is doing here. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the company, but Ten seems slightly too… vibrant for Kun’s tastes. He is an old man, after all.

Ten says it’s because the kids have all their fun without them, which sounds much to Kun like they’re bonding over their age. 

“Yes, yes he is.” 

Ten sighs dreamily. “Twenty-one and to be married. What a time in life.”

“Do you not… hate weddings, Mr. Lee?” Kun asks, as politely as possible. 

“Oh, I do. I truly despise them. It’s bad enough that that nice blonde boy ended up with my insolent brat of a nephew, but even worse that I had to be there for it.” 

“You slept through that.”

“As I do most things.” Ten smiles his catlike smile. 

Kun sighs. “And you cried when Mr. Osaki and Mr. Huang were married.” 

“I thought we had agreed to never speak of that again.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Ten doesn’t quite let up yet. “In my defense, I’d known Shotaro a whole year at that point. He’s so unbelievably kind, I couldn’t believe he was leaving so soon....”

“I’m sure.” Kun replies stoically. “Ten, I—, I might take personal offense if you sleep _or_ cry at my son’s wedding.”

Ten looks at him incredulously. “What option does that leave me, then?”

“I’d suggest that you grit your teeth and enjoy it, but I cannot control you.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“Love isn’t a bad thing, Ten,” Kun rambles on before he has a chance to stop himself. “Even someone like you might enjoy the feeling.”

“Someone like me?” 

Ten laughs, and it’s a surprisingly gentle sound. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> feel free to contact me on [instagram](https://instagram.com/dear.__.dream?igshid=16hz0xg0t0p70) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/rmstzngn)!


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